Chapter 4
Liam
Lottie
Where are you, Liam?
Xander
He’s in New York.
Lottie
Are you kidding me? The Locks are coming.
Aren’t you in Paris?
Lottie
Dad made me come since it’s your engagement dinner.
It’s not.
Xander
Mom will get a headache.
Lottie
Exactly and I will have to entertain them.
I didn’t invite them.
Lottie
You were just gone for a month!
I know.
Lottie
Don’t be an asshole. I’m returning to Paris in three days. Will you be back home by then?
Xander
Doubt that.
I’m resigning.
The water beats down on my muscles, melting the past hour away.
I don’t know what’s more shocking. That I slept with a stranger, or that I enjoyed it.
Getting off isn’t a hobby. It’s maintenance. A physiological necessity I usually handle with my hand, or—on rare occasions—an anonymous blowjob.
But what happened next door was different.
Not romantic.
Not meaningful.
Just… electric.
Frankly, I enjoyed it too much. And while it clearly was a tuck-your-dick-back-in-and-leave situation, I just couldn’t walk out first.
Still, the moment the idea of pillow talk crossed my mind, I did the only reasonable thing. I escaped to the shower like it was a fire exit.
Perhaps it was her insistence on anonymity, the masks, or the environment. People come here to fuck, after all.
Something about her just landed differently. And fuck, I can’t stand admitting it even in my own head.
When I approached her, I was focused. Get to know her in order to get closer to my goal here. And get Pascal’s number in the process.
Information, not intimacy.
But Little Thunder… Jesus… she wasn’t what I expected.
She was uncomfortable in that dress, and out of place in the club downstairs. But that didn’t stop her from showing up, or setting boundaries.
Guarded, but still sharp as hell. And the way she looked at me? Like she didn’t give a damn about me. Fuck.
I like that.
Against my will.
It was a heady feeling that she didn’t just melt because of my name, my looks, or whatever shallow nonsense most women cling to when they look at me. Not that she knew who I was. But still.
She just wanted to get rid of me. Which, for some fucked-up reason, I find appealing.
When she took my hand and led me upstairs, I followed out of curiosity. But also, out of pure, feverish need.
And when she fucking dropped that atrocious dress and spread those legs for me… fuck.
The memory makes me hard. I fist the shaft, and despite my better judgment, I close my eyes and beat one out to the memory of her tight pussy.
The water hits my back like punishment. I probably deserve it.
The innocence in her behavior in the bedroom contrasted so sharply with her confidence outside of it. I was high on the feeling.
Like taming the untamable. But it wasn’t about getting off on her lack of experience. It was more than that.
It was like she decided to join me in bed, and for reasons I can’t decipher, it felt like a privilege.
Or I’m still high from my orgasm. I don’t remember ever coming so hard.
But let’s call things what they truly are.
The sex was quick, filthy, and goddammit, satisfying. The kind that makes you remember you’re alive. A sensation I haven’t enjoyed in… years.
Years spent burying myself under revenge and obligation. Years spent pretending numbness is strength.
Dangerous. I don’t need distractions. Especially not ones with soft curves and sharp tongues.
I wasn’t searching for excitement, but she gave me a taste. And now, I’m intrigued. That’s all it is. A curiosity.
I step out of the shower and wrap a towel around my waist, considering my next move.
Should I just plainly ask her about Pascal? Will she accept money in exchange for that information?
Do I even need that number at this point?
I will see her again. She is the key to my reason for being here. For my interest in Merged. Getting close to her is an important part of my plan.
Revenge requires stepping stones. Not emotions.
But somewhere, midway through the night, my focus shifted. Maybe it had something to do with those honey-brown eyes glaring at me, like she wanted to stab me and kiss me at the same time.
Fuck, this spontaneous liaison isn’t what I planned. I just can’t decide whether it furthered my plans or derailed them.
There is only one way to find out.
I towel-dry my hair and pick up the mask from the sink where I left it. Its smooth material is cool on my fingers. I play with it for a moment before I toss it into the basket.
It’s time to face her.
I open the door, stepping into the bedroom that has just witnessed our moans and a beat of reckless pleasure.
“The moment of truth, Foxy.”
One glance at the bed and a quick scan around the room, and one thing is clear: she’s gone.
No phone number.
No introduction.
No awkwardness.
Just a warm dent in the sheets, and the faintest trace of her lavender scent.
I stand in the middle of the room as the ridiculousness of it hits me. A laugh bubbles out. A real laugh.
Sharp. Surprised. Not entirely sane.
Of course, the one woman I actually wanted to talk to after fucking disappears before I can even show her my face.
Blue or red?
In my guest suite bedroom, I stare at myself in the mirror, unsure which tie I’m going to wear.
Uncertainty is my least favorite state. Besides sobriety and sentimentality.
Like choosing my tie matters. But landing a solid place at Merged for the time being is the only way I can advance in my revenge plan.
A plan that kind of landed in my lap when I researched the Lock family.
Blue or red?
I don’t like being unsure. But after the unplanned events of last night, I’m slightly untethered.
The next few hours might determine how close I get to my goal.
What if Corm Quinn doesn’t sell me the stake in his company? Then last night might not have been a mistake.
I glance over at my laptop where the Merged office manager stares at me from the photo on their website.
Roxy Moretti.
My Foxy. Little Thunder.
I didn’t plan to run into her the way I did last night. I certainly didn’t plan for my reason to slip from my brain into my pants.
I scan her photo, and the unexpected genius of my reckless actions hits me. I smirk.
If Quinn doesn’t sell, I just pursue her anyway. I need her to get to her father and find out what he has on mine. Stepping into Merged was always just the reason to get to her.
Maybe last night wasn’t planned, but it might suit me well in the end.
I turn back to the mirror. Blue or red?
My meeting with Cormac is in half an hour, and I anticipate he will want to know why I am interested in joining him.
I can bullshit my way through the conversation with him. I’m prepared to tell Corm what he wants to hear. Will that be enough?
Isn’t this entire mission built on thin ice? Should I just return to San Francisco and live my life like I used to?
I’ve been plotting my revenge for the past ten years, and the damage I caused along the way isn’t significant enough to satisfy me. To finally forgive myself.
My phone interrupts my strategizing. When I see the caller ID, the reasons for being here become more focused.
“Father,” I say, walking to the window.
“Where are you, William?”
He William-ed me, which means his patience is about to snap.
“Why?” I imagine the vein on his temple swelling.
“Besides the fact that you didn’t show up at work? Yet again? The Locks are coming to have dinner with us tonight. To formalize the engagement.”
Oh, and suddenly there are no frayed edges around my reasons.
There is just clarity.
And rage.
And the absolute refusal to be chained to a future that was never mine.
“I won’t be there.” My voice is flat. Calm. The kind of calm that used to make my father slam doors.
“You will,” he says, steel tightening every syllable. “Victor Lock expects—”
“I don’t care what he expects.” I drag a hand through my hair, looking away from the window. The ties on the bed stare at me like a dare.
“Liam, be reasonable.” He sighs, the sound full of disappointment. “You were gone for a month again. It’s time you showed up.”
It’s time I showed up for myself.
“I’m not marrying Tawny Lock. I’m not rescuing your alliance. And I’m not coming home.”
A dangerous pause.
“Don’t be ridiculous. This is bigger than you. This is—”
“Exactly the problem,” I snap.
I never snap. Not with him. I never let him rile me up.
Silence stretches on the line.
“Liam, what’s gotten into you? I need you, son.” And the blackmailing tactics bloom.
The hair on my nape stands up. The last time he uttered those words, my world and beliefs were shattered.
Guilt and resentment replaced the na?ve enthusiasm and eagerness. The boy who wanted to escape the path decided for him became the man who learned to hate himself.
“I’ve got to go.” I hang up.
The phone almost immediately screeches through the thick air around me, but I cancel his attempt to talk to me.
Silencing the volume, I slide the phone into my pocket.
I step away from the window, determination coursing through my veins. I will continue to seek my perfect revenge, but getting the seat at Merged just gave me a new, unforeseen benefit.
I’ve spent ten years defying him in small, petty ways. But maybe the biggest fuck-you to Sterling Stone would be to succeed at something he didn’t choose. Didn’t guide. Didn’t own.
I look back at the ties spread across the bed.
Structured.
Restrictive.
Symbolic.
I walk out of the room. No tie.
If I’m going to meet Cormac Quinn, I’m meeting him as myself. Not Sterling Stone’s puppet groom. Not Sterling Stone’s ghost.
Just me.
“Let me be honest with you, Liam, when you approached me, I was surprised.” Corm leans back in his white leather sofa chair, observing me with a schooled expression.
He swirls his whiskey.
He hasn’t offered me one. I don’t care. Gin is my preference, anyway. And I wouldn’t want to offend his offer with my refusal.
The offer that hasn’t come, which means this is more of a grilling session than a friendly business meeting.
It makes me wonder if his invitation to stay at the Merged guest suite was a sign of hospitality or a ploy to lull me into a sense of false security about this meeting.